


The Culling

by funeralpyre



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben is a writer, Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, Gore, Implied Torture, Magical Realism, Rey has issues, Urban Legends, ben has issues too, cult vibes, i was inspired by sharp objects, rey and ben are two years apart, rey is a private eye, second chance trope-ish, small town vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26668954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funeralpyre/pseuds/funeralpyre
Summary: Definition of cull; [ kuhl ]transitive verb1: to select from a group : CHOOSEa small coastal town shrouded in mist.young girls missing in the night.a private investigator with demons of her own.an author with secrets in his blood.the lightning strikes and the bells toll on and on.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. prologue one.

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my little story.  
> i got the idea for it a while ago, but put it on the back burner. now that stormy weather and spooky season is upon us, i feel the inspiration to take this story on.  
> this is not an easy story. it is not a fluffy story.  
> chapter lengths vary. i have no posting schedule, but i have a bit of this already written so i'll try to have it done by halloween but who knows.

After a lifetime of waiting, dreaming, he is finally awakened.

His consciousness has no connection to his body, but the moment the door opens he feels a lurch inside, a pull towards something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

The lurch shifts to a soft but constant throb that echoes in his chamber.

A heartbeat.

He smiles.

_At last._

And the bells begin to toll.


	2. prologue two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates usually won't be this frequent, but the word count being only 66 bothered me.  
> thank you for the kudos and the comments, they warm the soul even more than a glass of bushmills.

The first time Rey Kanata hears the bells, it’s 12:45am on October 5th, 2000.

“What the fuck _is_ that?” She mutters to herself, furrowing her brow and looking back towards her window. 

Scattered in front of her are documents for the infidelity case she’s been working on. It seems like an open and shut case: a husband spending late nights at the office in Port Angeles, making excuses for having to go in on his days off, smelling like perfume when he finally manages to get home. She hasn’t gotten the money shot yet, but personal bank statements pull up multiple transactions at the local dive motel, making her life a lot easier. 

A storm is brewing something nasty outside, but even over the rumbling thunder she can still hear the strange bells chiming in the wind. It’s maddening.

She takes a generous sip from her whiskey glass, warmth resting in her chest and belly. The lights flicker above her, her heart skipping a beat. Rey doesn’t like the dark. She looks down at the amber liquid and brings it to her lips, tossing back the rest and refilling.

She tries to concentrate on her work, highlighting, circling, and shredding papers, but something about the ringing grates on her nerves, stealing her focus. Growling slightly, she pushes away from her desk, the alcohol sloshing in the glass at the force. She stomps over to the window next to her bed and with a bit of strength pushes it open, the grinding of metal on metal squeaking loudly in the room.

She sticks her head out and looks around, the wind lifting her hair slightly. It’s after midnight, so the streets are completely devoid of people. The ringing is clearer now in the open air, a haunting sound not unlike that of old church bells, but continuous, relentless. She slams the window shut, knowing she won’t get any more work done with those damn bells going off. The lights flicker again as she walks back over to her desk and picks up her cup, swirling the liquid 'round and 'round. She sighs and gulps the entire thing down, grimacing at the burn. She knows she'll regret it in the morning, but can't seem to find it in herself to care at the moment. 

Turning off her desk lamp, she grabs her CD player and climbs into bed, slipping her headphones on and blasting the loudest music she can sleep to.

On the other side of the small town, amidst the looming evergreens, a wailing sob cracks through the night, hushed by the sound of the tolling.


	3. chapter one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> frugals has the best burgers in washington, don't let anyone tell you different.  
> if you can't tell, this story has alternating povs and it continues throughout the story. most of them are rey and ben, but we do have a mysterious pov that will pop up every once in a while.  
> i'm trying to put together a cohesive playlist for this story, but honestly I just listen to explosions in the sky's "all of a sudden i miss everyone" album while writing.  
> any and all comments and kudos are greatly appreciated and loved.

In the early morning hours of October 13th, 2000, Benjamin Solo gets the call that his father has died.

He’s surprisingly still awake when his mother calls him for the first time in two years, her usually stoic voice wavering as she tells him the news. The coffee he had just brewed ends up on the floor, his favorite mug shattered. He clings to the closest thing he can grab, the cheap formica countertop, using all of his strength to keep himself upright. He moves slowly to one of the stools at the breakfast bar and sits, cradling his head in one hand while vaguely listening to his mother drone on about the funeral.

A venomous voice inside of him whispers ‘ _why do you even care? It’s not like you ever did before,’_ as he listens to his mother, the wisps of his painful childhood whirling around him. He remembers the soft, gloomy days in Graymoor, Washington spent playing with his dad, his mother always too busy, too important to pay much mind to them.

A kaleidoscope of memories zip through his mind of his dad’s laugh, him cheering at Ben’s football games, of the smell of old leather and tobacco that clung to everything he owned.

“Mother, I’ll be there soon,” he interrupts her, hanging up without saying goodbye. The last person he wants to talk to about grieving his father is his mother.

Hesitantly, he dials a number he thought he’d forgotten, taking a shaking breath as the phone rings.

“Hello?” The person on the other line groggily answers, a shuffling softly heard in the background. “Ben?”

“He’s dead, Poe. Dad’s dead.”

_—————————————————_

The waves of grief try to pull him under while he packs, throwing random stuff into a duffle bag and a suitcase, barely coherent. It feels like a vice grips his chest, like he’ll never breathe again. He tries to think of the last time he’d seen his dad: it had been at his graduation a year and a half ago, his hair slightly greying, a small beer belly showing. He’d wanted Ben to come home for Christmas this year but Ben had said no, said that with writing and dealing with book agents he wouldn't have the time.

Ben feels like he’s going to be sick.

He sinks to the floor, leaning his back against his bed and looks around his apartment. When he’d graduated from UC Berkeley, he knew he couldn’t go back home. He knew if he ended up back in Graymoor, he’d never escape again. In the end he’d moved to the beach town of Oceanside, California; he’d never wanted to live near the water again, but at least the sand is warm here.

_Two weeks_ , he tells himself, fisting his hair tightly, pulling until it hurt. _I’ll allow myself two weeks in Graymoor, and then I have to come back. I will not get trapped there. I will not end up like them._

After a minute he gets up off the ground, running a hand over his face in frustration. He packs the rest of his things, his head a bit more clear, and tries to find sleep.

————————-

He watches as hordes of excited families in matching Disney shirts pass him by as he waits for his plane. He’s trying to zone out, to just make it through the hours left until he’s in Seattle without inflicting harm on the people around him, but the screaming children are making it difficult.

A small child pulls a Beauty and the Beast roller suitcase behind her, tripping briefly in her attempt to keep up with her family. The smile on her face is infectious, but not quite enough to move Ben’s lips. He wonders what it would’ve been like if he would’ve been raised in that kind of family, the type that goes to Disneyland, or on vacation at all. He’d done a few road trips with his dad, but he couldn’t remember a single trip where all three of them were present.

He trembles as he gathers up his things quickly, rushing to the nearest smoking section of the airport. He slides into the boxed in area, staring out at the cars picking up arrivals. Somehow, seeing the families this way is worse: the idea of being able to see the happiness but unable to even grasp it, the thick glass keeping the distance, feels too real, too close to home.

They finally start boarding his flight, but his hands never stop shaking.

————————————————

The air feels slightly damp as he stands on the edge of the ferry, overlooking the Puget Sound. The towering skyscrapers of Seattle fade in the distance behind him as they grow closer and closer to the small town of Kingston. Ben lights a cigarette and takes deep pull, the burning in his lungs calming the panic brewing inside.

“You're being very quiet,” Poe says as he approaches. He looks the same as always: short but tough, his hands shoved into the pockets of his grandfather’s brown leather flight jacket. It had been years since he’d even talked to Poe, but he’s like the rolling tide: unchanging, constant.

It had been a short phone call last night about Han's death, Poe already knowing what he’d meant to Ben. He’d been thankful that Poe had offered to pick him up from the airport; he didn’t think a 4 hour drive with his mother would be something they’d both survive.

“Hmm,” Ben murmurs, taking another small drag off his cigarette. “I just don’t really know what to say.” It’s the truth; Ben and Poe had never been the type of friends who talked at length. They’d known each other so long that a slight look had been enough to know how the other was feeling.

Ben starts to think about whether _friends_ was ever the accurate term for the two of them anyways, or if it had been a relationship without choices, the convenience of befriending the only other boy within miles of his home too easy to say no to.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you.”

Ben looks down at the water below, not knowing how to explain to Poe that he'd spent years trying to strip himself of his old life, a life that had wanted him less than he’d wanted it. The only surviving part of it had been the connection to his dad, and now that that was severed, he doesn’t know what's left.

He casually wonders how cold the water was this time of year.

“Okay,” Poe says, the awkwardness apparent in his voice. “Ben, come on, talk to me.”

Ben’s voice comes out sharp as a blade. “What am I supposed to talk to you about? How I’ve been? My dead dad? Cause I don’t really wanna fucking talk about any of it right now.”

He regrets his words and tone the moment he spits them out. The cool air of the day stings his lungs as he inhales deeply, trying to keep his anxiety at bay, focusing on his breathing.

Hurt flashes in Poe’s eyes briefly before understanding clouds them. It makes Ben feel worse than he already does. Poe nods as he pushes off from the railing, walking back towards the seating area inside. “Sorry dude, you’re right. I’ll see you back in the car.”

Ben watches Poe until he can’t see him anymore, guilt riddling through his chest.

" _fuck,_ " he chokes out.

He wonders when he’d become such an asshole, or if he’s always been this way.

He grips his hair and squeezes his eyes shut, biting back a scream.

——————————

The drive from Kingston to Graymoor seems longer than he remembers, the forest stretching for miles and miles ahead of them. He remembers a girl he used to date down in Quilcene, and wonders why he ever made that much effort for someone who didn’t even matter.

Out the window is a blur of rain and trees as Poe speeds past Sequim and into the heart of Port Angeles. They stop at Frugal’s and pick up some burgers, the car silent besides Poe’s jaw clicking with each bite.

_Did it click before?_ He wants to ask what happened, the question on the tip of his tongue.

He watches the town go by instead.

“Have you been talking to anyone in town recently?” Poe wonders into the quiet, staring straight out the windshield.

“Well, I talked to my dad a few weeks ago for his birthday, but I don’t really keep in contact with anyone else. Why?”

Poe hesitates, running his hands roughly through his hair. “Something happened. More than just…Han.”

“Um, okay, what happened?”

“Do you remember Alena Rar? She was in our year.”

“Sure,” Ben says, lying. He tries to draw up a mental image of her and comes up with nothing.

“Her little sister Nora disappeared last week.”

“Like, she ran away?”

“No,” Poe stresses, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Like, just gone. No signs of a struggle, nothing missing, not even a pair of shoes.”

Ben bites back a laugh. “They counted her shoes? Come on man, you know what they’re like in Graymoor. Something small happens and Armageddon is on the horizon.”

“I know what they’re like more than _you_ could ever know,” he snaps, making Ben flinch. “I’m telling you, Nora was a good kid. Straight A student, never got into trouble.”

Ben knows from experience none of that means anything, but he stays quiet, not wanting to upset Poe further.

“Look,” Poe continues, relaxing his hands a bit. “I’m just warning you, this whole thing’s got the town in a tizzy. They all know the stories.”

Ben shudders slightly, he _knows_ they all know the stories. It’s one of the reasons he ran, being a legacy to something like that.

The cab goes silent again as they turn onto the 112, the city of Port Angeles melting back into the dense forest. He remembers this highway like the back of his hand, the nights spend speeding down it, reckless and dangerous, pretending life had no meaning.

The sun sinks beyond the horizon by the time they get to the edges of Graymoor, the town’s small main road the only thing lit up in the foggy dark.

When Poe passes by the wooden _Padme Acres_ sign, Ben feels like he can’t breathe, like the weight of his entire childhood is pressing against his windpipe.

The grand house edges through the trees, the lights on in every room. His mother is expecting him. The night blankets most of the house, but he doesn’t need to see it to know it’s exactly the same. His mother would never change a thing on her precious home, her most prized possession.

“Thanks,” Ben whispers as Poe comes to a stop.

“No problem. I’ll see you at the funeral?”

He nods, trying to think of anything to say to keep him in this car, to stop the inevitable from happening. “Yeah, for sure.”

They sit in the awkward quiet for a beat more before Ben hears his cue and gets out, grabbing his suitcase out of the trunk.

When he looks back up at the house, he sees a small woman standing on the veranda.

“Welcome home, Benjamin.”


	4. passage one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our mysterious pov comes back into play, with sinister results.  
> please mind the new tags.  
> comments and kudos are always appreciated.  
> come visit me on twitter at suburbngothic where i talk incessantly about movies, succession, and my unending need to thrust my music taste onto others.

He sits in the old plaid rocker, half eaten by moths, teeming with insects. He bares them no mind.

Tires hit the gravel as a car comes up the long, winding driveway. It’s a bit of a distance from the edge of the driveway to where he sits, waiting, but he knows his disciple won’t let him down.

Moments later he hears footsteps on the wooden stairs out front, the unmistakable sound of a body being dragged up them. His helper places the girl in front of him, the one they’d spoken to him so much about.

She’s petite with beautiful porcelain skin, smooth and supple. Her nightgown is thrashed, ripped and dirty all over. He lifts her hand to his face, taking in the dirt under her fingernails, the smears of blood where some are broken off.

“Have you fed her it?” He asks.

“Yes, my lord,” his humble servant vows.

A smile spreads across his face, pleased. He turns back towards the girl, placing both of his hands on the sides of her face. He takes notice instantly of the difference in texture, between her soft, youthful skin and his paper-thin, decaying flesh.

He closes his eyes, concentrating, thinking.

_Little girl, little girl,_ he thinks, _won’t you let me in?_


	5. chapter two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a finish time before halloween? unlikely, but scary stories are embraced year-round right?  
> thank you for all the love and support.

It is 9am October 13th, 2000 when Rey wakes up with a start.

Her head is killing her, a slight pulse throbbing behind her eyes causing her to groan, reaching for the ibuprofen and a glass of water on her bedside table. She’s glad drunk Rey always knows what hungover Rey desperately needs. She rolls out of bed and stumbles to her small closet, grabbing a black pair of jeans, a black hoodie, and her usual black leather jacket. She slips into her docs and grabs her purse as she makes her way downstairs to the office.

The Kanata Investigations decal stands out boldly on the frosted window pane of the front door. She runs her hand along the ugly green and dark orange striped wallpaper that lines the office as she made her way down the final steps. The office itself isn’t all that aesthetically pleasing: dingy brown desks they’d found at goodwill, cork-boards up on the walls covered in scraps of papers and photographs, three tall, ugly dark wood bookshelves against the wall crammed full of books, newspapers, and junk, and a tiny kitchenette packed to the brim with teas and random granola bars.

The business had started when Rey's mom Maz had been in high school, profiting off of her peers who wanted proof their boyfriend or girlfriend was cheating on them, proof that their parents were having an affair to blackmail them for one reason or another, or to snag an upcoming test from a teacher’s desk. Maz had two gifts: she could find anyone, and she could break in anywhere. Sometimes Rey wondered why Maz stuck to such low aspirations as a private investigator in a small town; she would’ve given any high-ranked bank robber a run for their money.

When she’d graduated high school, not knowing what to do, Maz just decided to stick to what she was good at, and taught it all to Rey when she was old enough. Some parents teach their children about the music of Stravinsky, the art of Riminaldi, or the science of the universe. Maz taught her about the greed of the world, the depths of people’s pockets, and the price of a secret.

She guesses that it’s an art form in and of itself.

Maz is already seated at her desk typing away when Rey noisily enters the room.

“I’m gonna tell Jim at the liquor store to start denying you bottles if you’re gonna keep this up.”

Rey staggers over to her desk and jerks a drawer open, searching around for a pack of cigarettes. “You forget ma, Jim likes me better.”

“He may like you more, but he _fears_ me.” Rey rolls her eyes, damning herself for keeping her drawers so chock full of shit.

The office is quiet for a moment before Maz speaks. “Are they back?” Her voice is soft, laced with concern, and Rey doesn’t need context to know what she means.

“I’m _fine_ ,” she snaps.

Maz scowls and sits up straighter, an air of authority surrounding her. ”No more binging, you hear me? It’s bad for our rep.”

Rey snorts. She doesn’t know what kind of rep a couple of girl dicks could have, prowling the night in search of bail jumpers, border crossers, and men with their cocks where they don’t belong, but she doubts her recent dependency on whiskey really changes much. Plus, she only drinks at night when she can’t sleep. She’s fine. Everything is _fine_.

She finally finds her emergency pack and slams the drawer shut, walking towards the exit.

“Yes, ma’am. Do you want anything from Tico's?”

“Get me a scramble,” Maz says, turning back towards her papers. “And make sure _no_ onions this time. I’ve got a lunch date with a judge today for a case.”

“Hot,” Rey mumbles as she pushes the front door open.

The town of Graymoor sits on the northern edge of the Olympic Peninsula, overlooking the Salish Sea. The salty air holds in a heavy mist that comes off the water, the town shadowed in fog every morning. It’s a one streetlight kind of place, where everyone knows one another, and everyone is always in each other’s business. Rey’s lived here her whole life, watching as people continue the cycles that plague small towns: drugs, drinking, and delinquency. It’s a place where people rarely leave, and if they do, they always find their way back.

_Well,_ she thinks, _not always._

It’s cool even for October, the storm the night before and the morning fog still lingering in the air, as Rey stuffs her hands in her pockets and makes her way to the main stretch. It’s a sad, slightly beaten down lane of shops that had been there for longer than Rey has been alive. Families passing down their legacies, keeping the spirit of small town living alive. The only corporate thing in their town is a Dairy Queen, but it’s a franchise owned by the Talzin’s.

Tico's Diner has been the main restaurant in town for as long as Rey can remember. Most of her childhood was spent playing around the restaurant and sleeping in the house attached to it with their eldest daughter Rose, her mom on important jobs in Port Angeles during the night.

While Rey had always known her destiny of joining Maz at Kanata Investigations, Rose had higher aspirations for herself. She’d always been a studious person, pushing for Rey to actually pay attention in school. She had been valedictorian at their high school, and gotten a scholarship to University of Washington to study biology.

But like life usually is, it didn’t go the way she had planned. Soon after Rose and Rey’s high school graduation, her mom had been in a car accident, a drunk driver t-boning her, killing her instantly. Her father had told her to keep her plans, to go onto university, but Rey knew she wouldn’t. Rose’s little sister Paige had just turned 12, and her dad’s struggle just to get up every morning put a strain not only on their family, but on the business. In an attempt to keep her family afloat, she deferred her enrollment to take a gap year and help out her family.

Three years later, and she’s still no closer to escaping.

Graymoor claimed the lives of so many of Rey’s peers, in one way or another.

The familiar door bell chimes as she makes her way towards her usual stool at the bar. She leans her head against her hand, her brain still foggy from the slight hangover she’s nursing. She grumbles and taps her two fingers against the counter when Rose comes over to take her order, a wordless signal for _coffee, now_. 

“You look like shit,” Rose says looking over at her, starting up the coffee machine.

Rey rolls her eyes, pain radiating in her sockets. “What every girl wants to hear first thing in the morning, thanks.”

“It’s what I’m here for. Anything new on Nora?”

Rey leans against the back of the stool, propping her elbow up on it. “You know Sheriff’s office told me to stop looking into it.”

“And by Sheriff’s office, you just mean Armie.”

“Says I was ‘impeding on the investigation’.”

Rose huffs out a sigh. “Impeding my ass, like they’d know jack shit if it wasn’t for you. I swear, how you ever dated that guy I have no clue.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Rey says, fiddling with her napkin.

“Anyways, you hear the other news?” Rose asks as she distractedly pours, coffee dribbling onto the counter. She passes the mug to Rey, wiping up the mess with a dirty rag.

Rey sips her drink, wincing at the heat before taking another sip. “What news?”

“Mr. Solo died last night, completely out of the blue. One minute he’s talking with his wife, the next minute…gone.”

Rey coughs into the mug, the hot liquid splashing against her upper lip, burning. Rose shifts her eyes to Rey at her reaction, handing her a napkin. She dabs her skin with it, schooling her features.

“Wow, that _is_ news.”

“Yeah, Kaydel was on scene when they picked up the body. Poor Mrs. Solo was pretty shook up, so I hear.”

Rey hums in response, not knowing what to say. Flashes of _him_ , of a nondescript classroom at their high school, of the peer editing paper she was handed in her creative writing class play in her mind. The feeling she felt reading something so private and personal, like reading a diary entry, like she was betraying trust that was never given to her in the first place. A short story about a monster boy who just wanted his mom to love him, but no matter what he did, he only made her hate him more.

_Poor Mrs. Solo_ , she thinks, trying to keep the sneer off her face. Rey wishes she could get out of the conversation, her brain vulnerable after a night of drinking to the pain of the past.

“They’re holding a memorial at their house this Sunday. If you wanted, we could go together? I know,” Rose pauses, hesitating slightly, “I know that house is a sensitive subject for you, but you know how people are here. You’d never hear the end of it if you didn’t go.”

The onslaught of memories about the last time that she’d been in that house grips her: soft hands, softer brown eyes, the rusty, boyish laugh of a boy who’d never be hers. The images swiftly meld into ones that she can’t forget, can’t let go of: waking up in the blackness of the woods, a dark wooden box covered in blood, and the cold rush of water.

Rey has first hand knowledge that sometimes the best night of your life can also be your worst.

Not trusting herself to speak, she nods slightly and downs her still scalding coffee, rejoicing in the pain that slides down her throat.


End file.
